e! Ah
yes!--you cannot help THAT!"

A triumphant glory flashed in her eyes--her red lips parted in a
ravishing smile.

"You cannot help it!" she repeated--"That little white lady--that
friend of yours whom you hate and love at the same time!--she told me I
was 'quite beautiful!' I know I am!--and you know it too!"

He bent his eyes upon her gravely.

"I have always known it--yes!"--he said, then paused--"Dear child,
beauty is nothing--"

She made a swift step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. Her
ardent, glowing face was next to his.

"You speak not truly!" and her voice was tremulous--"To a man it is
everything!"

Her physical fascination was magnetic, and for a moment he had some
trouble to resist its spell. Very gently he put an arm round her,--and
with a tender delicacy of touch unfastened the rose she wore at her
bosom.

"There, dear!" he said--"I will keep this with me for company! It is
like you--except that it doesn't talk and doesn't ask for love--"

"It has it without asking!" she murmured.

He smiled.

"Has it? Well,--perhaps it has!" He paused--then stooping his tall head
kissed her once on the lips as a brother might have kissed her. "And
perhaps--one day--when the right man comes along, you will have it too!"

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Sam Gwent stood in what was known as the "floral hall" of the Plaza
Hotel, so called because it was built in colonnades which opened into
various vistas of flowers and clambering vines growing with all the
luxuriance common to California. He had just arrived, and while
divesting himself of a light dust overcoat interrogated the official at
the enquiry office.

"So he doesn't live here after all,"--he said--"Then where's he to be
found?"

"Mr. Seaton has taken the hill hut"--replied the book-keeper--"'The hut
of the dying' it is sometimes called. He prefers it to the hotel. The
air is better for his lungs."

"Air? Lungs?"--Gwent sniffed contemptuously. "There's very little the
matter with his lungs if he's the man _I_ know! Where's this hut of the
dying? Can I get there straight?"

The bookkeeper touched a bell, and Manella appeared. Gwent stared
openly. Here--if "prize beauties" were anything--was a real winner!

"This gentleman wants Mr. Seaton"--said the bookkeeper--"Just show him
the way up the hill."

"Sorry to trouble you!" said Gwent, raising his hat with a courtesy not
common to his manner.

"Oh, it is no trouble!" and Manella smiled a